


We Belong

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Swap, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, First Time, Impala Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Possessive Sam Winchester, Rimming, pilot AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester left his dad and older brother behind, to pursue a life outside of hunting. He's five months away from graduation and happily living in sin with his girl when his past comes creeping back in. Comes creeping in through his apartment window, to be precise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaylennz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylennz/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Restricted Work] by [gatling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatling/pseuds/gatling). Log in to view. 



> Dialogue lifted from "Pilot" (Ep 01-01) by Eric Kripke. Mild spoilers.  
> (Why are you here if you haven't seen the pilot? Go watch!!) ;)

Dean wakes up with a start, hunter’s instincts humming like Spidey sense. Old habits. He rolls out of bed, pads silently across the bedroom floor. A quick glance over his shoulder at his girl, still asleep, and he eases through door and out into the hall.

The sight of fluttering curtains over an open window floods his body with adrenaline. He hears footsteps; the beaded curtain hanging across his kitchen door whispers a rattle. Dean slips into a shadowed corner and waits.

The prowler passes close and he lunges, grabs at a thick-muscled shoulder. Blow from a giant hand knocks his arm away and a fist flies toward his face. He ducks, but the guy’s got a hold on him, swings him around and shoves him hard. A flurry of punches and kicks, blocks and feints, and suddenly Dean’s laid out flat, carpet scratching his back where his shirt’s ridden up. The man pins his wrist, circles his neck.

“Whoa, easy, tiger.” A shaft of light falls on his attacker’s face.

“Sam?”

His brother laughs, triumphant.

“You scared the crap outta me!” Dean tries to control his breathing. He tenses his muscles, plans his escape.

“That’s ’cause you’re outta practice.” Sam’s self-righteous smile displays his dimples, lights up his eyes. Dean can’t afford to think about that right now.

With a flick of a hand and a well-placed kick he rolls free, turns the tables on his brother who looks up at him, surprised.

“Or not.” The moment hangs between them, heavy, until Sam gripes, “Get offa me.”

Dean does. Extends a hand and hauls his brother off the floor. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, I was looking for a beer.”

Dean grits his teeth. Shoots Sam an unimpressed, vaguely threatening look.

“Okay. All right. We gotta talk.”

Light floods the room as a sleepy voice breaks in. “Dean?”

“Cassie. Hey.” He darts his eyes between her and his brother. His future and his past. “Sam, this is my girlfriend, Cassie.”

“Wait,” Cassie says, a smile creeping across her face, “your brother Sam?”

Dean can’t do anything but nod.

**

“It’s, uh… It’s nice meeting you,” Sam says lamely.

Dean has a girlfriend. Sam can’t quite believe it. Dean -- his girl-crazy, get-around, love-’em-and-leave-’em baby brother -- went and got himself a girlfriend. A smoking hot one, too, if hardly Sam’s type. Sleep-scattered curls, caramel skin, legs for days. A no-bullshit attitude rolls off her in waves as she sizes him up.

He’s finally able to take in the details of Dean’s -- of _Dean and Cassie’s_ apartment. It’s an unsettling mix of things that remind Sam of the kid he raised, and clues about the man his brother’s become. Crates of records, actual vinyl records, stacked in a corner. A welder’s mask hung on a hook. A picture of Dean in greasy coveralls, standing with a group of guys around a mud-covered Baja car. Books piled on a battered table, _Advanced Engineering Mathematics_ on top. He picks it up.

“Engineering?”

Dean takes the book from his hands and thumps it back on the pile. “Yes, Sam. Mechanical Engineering. Turns out your gearhead brother isn’t actually a moron.”

The hostility surprises Sam. What does Dean have to be pissed about? He’s the one who left, too good for Dad and Sam and their bullshit about, y’know, saving lives. Sam feels his own agitation pick up. God, nobody can push his buttons like Dean.

“Why don’t I give you guys some space?” Cassie says. “I’ll take off for a while.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Dean objects.

Cassie shrugs. “So? Been meaning to do a night shoot on the Green anyway.” She leans in for a quick kiss from Dean and heads down the dark hallway. “Besides,” she throws over a shoulder. “Anybody messes with me I’ll just bust out the wicked moves you been teaching me.” She pantomimes a one-two combo.

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.

“She’s a natural,” Dean grins. “And a helluva fun sparring partner.” His eyes widen, brows quirking up and down. It’s dead sexy, in a crude kind of way, and so _Dean_ it makes Sam’s chest ache.

They stand around in awkward silence. Finally Dean says, “How ’bout that beer, huh?”

Sam nods. Lets out a breath. Dean comes out of the kitchen with two longnecks and opens them both with his ring. Passes one to Sam as Cassie comes back, bundled up against the chill of Ohio in fall, camera bag slung across her body.

She pulls Dean in for a scorching kiss. “Two hours, okay? And I’ve got my phone.”

Dean pets the side of her face. “Two hours. But you call me if anything -- ”

“So protective,” she purrs. “I’ll call.” Her voice is all indulgence.

“I mean it,” Dean insists. “Don’t be out there Jackie Channing people.”

Cassie laughs. “I promise.”

Dean motions toward the couch as Cassie slips out into the night. Side by side, sipping beers, Sam realizes he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. He just knew after his fourth consecutive one night stand with a freckled, dishwater blonde, he needed to get _here_. Get to Dean. Get what he wants or else get the kid out of his system.

“Why’re you here, Sammy?” Dean asks, like he’s reading Sam’s mind.

“I missed you,” Sam answers truthfully.

They tip back their longnecks, synchronized. A long beat.

“I missed you too, man.” Dean’s voice is barely more than a whisper.

Another beat, and Sam drains the rest of his beer in one long pull. “Let’s get outta here,” he says. “Go for a ride.”

This’ll all be easier in the car. They grew up in the backseat, toeing the line between wrestling and cuddling even as kids. Sam’s pretty sure every important event in their lives has involved that car. Dean’s first words, first lost tooth, first broken heart when he was four and had to leave his little kindergarten crush behind. Sam thinks they both got their first blowjobs in it.

“You know you wanna drive your baby again.”

**

Dean does, oh, fuck yes he does. His baby was his cradle and his lullaby, and later, after Dad passed the keys down to Sam, his lifeline. His brother’s a stone-cold genius but no head for moving parts. So it fell to Dean to keep her running, keep her passing Dad’s inspections and he ate it up. The one and only thing he could talk to his father about risk-free. She was Sam’s car, sure. But she was Dean’s baby.

“Okay.” He doesn’t wanna act too excited but he fails to completely suppress a giddy smile. “Yeah, let’s go for a ride.”

He tugs on his shoes. Pulls Dad's old leather jacket down from its peg by the door, and only then notices Sam never took his off. _Real welcoming, Dean,_ he scolds himself. He thinks to call Cassie at the last possible minute and he scolds himself again. Just being in the same room with Sam after all this time has struck him stupid.

 _Dean?_ she answers. _Everything all right?_

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just… Listen… Me and Sam are gonna take a drive.”

 _That’s cool._ And Dean loves her ’cause she means it. _You guys do your brother thing. I won’t wait up._

“What would I do without you?”

 _Crash and burn._ He hears the smile in her voice. _Love you._

“I know.”

Cassie laughs and the line goes quiet. Dean flips his phone closed. “Ready to go?”

“Let’s do this,” Sam says.

Slipping behind the wheel feels like going back in time. So does Sam’s attitude.

“We need to scoot the seat up for you, runt?”

“Hey fuck you.”

“We could find you a phone book… Booster seat, maybe?”

“Dude. I’m six-one.”

Sam laughs, flashes Dean with those dimples again. So much for outgrowing his fucked up big brother hero worship. Dean puts the car in drive and pulls out from the curb. He flips a U-turn.

“Where we headed?” Sam asks.

“There’s a national forest ten, maybe twenty minutes north. Thought we’d grab a few beers, find a pull-off?”

“Works for me.”

“Hey, you still have my tape collection?” It’s a dumb question. Sam’s picked on Dean’s music for as long as he can remember. Probably longer.

But the strangest look passes over Sam’s face. He reaches behind his seat and grabs a shoebox. “Zep One?”

Dean’s eyes bug out like baseballs for a second. “Yeah, Sammy. ’S perfect.”

Sam pushes the tape in. “Good Times Bad Times” starts to play.

“You know, ‘Sammy’ is a chubby twelve-year-old. It’s Sam, okay?”

Dean reaches down and cranks it, settles back with a satisfied smirk.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud.” He shoots his best shit-eatin’ grin at his brother. Sam rolls his eyes, but the tiniest smile flits across his mouth. Dean doesn’t spend too long thinking about it.

Six-pack secured in the trunk, Dean drives them out of Athens and into the hills. He’s been out this way a few times, for camp-out parties when he lived in the dorms. Always wanted to bring his baby up through here. She’s built for these blacktops.

More often than he cares to admit, his gaze flicks over to his brother in the shotgun seat. He thinks it oughta be more awkward, and it was, for those first few minutes. Now though, as the last long note of “You Shook Me” drifts outta the speakers, all he feels is content.

They’re well into the forest proper, and Dean starts to look for a turn-off. Once they’re off the highway, he can really cut it loose. He presses the accelerator, rides the rush as the engine roars. Headlights slice bright cones into the dark between the trees.

**

 _This was your idea,_ Sam tells himself, white-knuckled as Dean tears ass through the hills, blasting over rises and around blind curves. Bright side, he guesses? If Dean spills their literal guts in a crash Sam won’t have to worry about the figurative spilling.

Dean’s face right now is worth it anyway, eyes bright and mouth wide in unbridled joy. Whoops and laughter layer over “Black Mountain Side” and Dean’s ring glints as he taps on the wheel. Sam wants to touch. So, so bad. Wants to stretch his arm across the seat and play with the buzz-short hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. Slide his fingers inside that jacket and feel the muscles, loose and easy, shifting underneath the skin.

Finally Dean lays off the gas. He scans the road’s shoulders and, “Ha,” he barks softly, braking slow and guiding the car down a single lane of gravel. Sam’s surprised when they reach a narrow river, sandbars pointing fingers out of riprap on the bank. Dean cuts the ignition but leaves the electrics on. Rolls his head back on the seat and lets his eyes slide closed.

Full moon in a cloudless sky gives Sam just enough light to study his brother’s profile. First hints of lines around Dean’s eyes evoke that smile Sam missed so much. Not a kid anymore, Sam thinks, and resentment spikes in his stomach. Resentment for these people here, these ignorant children who shared years with Dean that belonged to Sam.

Dean cracks an eye and cocks an eyebrow. Tilts his face toward Sam, just a fraction. “Damn, Sammy. Checkin’ out the goods?” A lazy grin spreads across his face and Sam forgets to breathe. “Fuckin’ freak.” Dean rolls his eyes before he shoulders through the car door.

Sam just stares as his brother saunters down to the water’s edge. Dean crouches, fingers grazing the ground. He picks something up and shoves it in his jacket pocket. Skipping rocks, Sam realizes. He better get down there or Dean’ll hoard all of them.

Dean looks back over his shoulder as Sam’s boots crunch up behind him. “Ready to go down, bitch?”

 _You have no idea._ Sam keeps it together though, drops into a squat and starts searching the bank. Feels for stones worn smooth from tumbling against each other, flat from the relentless river.

Dean stands, hefts a rock in one hand and shoves the other in his pocket. With one long liquid motion he flips his rock up in the air, catches it, then launches it out across the water, _plop-plop-plop._

“Three?” Sam snorts. “Pathetic.” He pries loose a likely candidate with his fingers.

“Was just a practice shot,” Dean says, voice defensive.

Sam stands, rubs his thumb over his worst rock, brushing mud away. Draws his arm back and flicks his wrist. The stone skates over the river’s surface. Four.

“Haha!” he shouts triumphantly. “Give up now, little brother, and spare yourself further embarrassment.”

“Kiss my ass.” Dean lets another one fly. Watches and listens, pumps his fist. “That was six, motherfucker.”

Sam gets eight. He can’t pin down how long it’s been since they played this game, but he’s pretty sure Dean’s all-time record is nine.

Dean gets six again and so does Sam. He’s out of rocks but Dean has one more.

“Go for it, jerk. I ain’t scared.” He crosses his arms in front of him, raises his eyebrows in a dare.

Dean’s saved his best one for last, if Sam knows him at all. Again with the flip, catch, launch, count… and Dean hollers. Punches the air.

Fucking ten.

“That’s a new world record, Sammy!” Dean steps close, grabs ahold of Sam's jacket lapels and gives a friendly shove. “C’mon. I win. Pay up.”

**

“We didn’t bet anything, dumbass.” Sam lays a bitchface on Dean but it’s obvious his heart’s not it.

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get a prize.” Dean _should_ get his hands off his brother’s coat collar. But damn he’s missed this, the contact, the stupid contests and the roughhousing, the never-ending quest to break each other’s balls.

Sam swallows. Dean tracks his brother’s bobbing throat with his eyes and yeah… he really needs to…

He turns his brother’s jacket loose and pats Sam’s chest with both hands, smoothes down the fabric. He’s just about to turn away when Sam’s big paws come up and grab his shoulders.

“What -- ” Sam swallows again. “What kind of prize?” His voice dives low, rumbles rough around the edges and Sam sounds nervous, of all fuckin’ things. Well it’s that or he’s gettin’ turned --

Wait…

Dean looks up at his brother and Sam licks his lips. His hands slide down, over Dean’s ribs to the hem of his jacket and push back up, push inside. Sam’s fingers, warm from his pockets, Dean guesses, feel like eight long brands where they curl around toward the small of Dean’s back.

“S-Sammy?” This is -- Dean clears his throat. This is not their familiar routine here.

Sam pulls him closer, breathes right in his ear. “What kind of prize, Dean?”

Oh, God.

And what the fuck? He pulls away, completely flustered. Nobody wins gay incest chicken. Especially when --

Nope. Just gonna shove that thought back down and put it in the box with the rest of his perversions.

“Beer,” he blurts out. “I win a beer.” He flashes Sam a kilowatt smile, honest as a three-dollar bill. Starts up the riprap toward the car. “You?”

Sam’s looking at him kinda sideways but he answers. “Sure.”

Dean grabs their beers and climbs up on the hood. Leans his back against the windshield and looks up. Listens to Sam’s approaching footsteps. He can play this off. Sam has no idea how close he came to steppin’ on a land mine. No reason he should find out, either.

He waits for Sam to get settled, passes over a beer and clinks the bottles in salute. They’re quiet a while. Comfortable. It’s warm up here, good American steel radiating engine heat.

“Dean?” And of course Sam’s gotta break their easy silence. “Are you happy?”

Son of a bitch.

**

“What kinda question is that?”

Sam can feel it when Dean squirms against him. It’s electric shocks and fireworks and every stupid pop song cliché he’s ever heard. But Dean’ll play this off if Sam lets him.

“You’re my brother,” Sam says. “I worry about you.”

Dean lands a soft backhand to Sam’s middle. “Well knock it off.”

“Can’t do that, Dean.”

“I’m fine, okay?”

“That’s not the same thing.” Sam rolls up on his side, elbow propped on the windshield and hair falling down in his face. He meets Dean’s eyes. “You don’t belong here.”

“Says you,” Dean huffs.

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “Says me.”

Dean watches Sam. And it wouldn’t take a psychic to read the conflict in his head. Sam’s had a lifetime of learning to read people, pick up the tiny expressions that come and go in less than a heartbeat. And this is _Dean_. His eyes keep flicking down, to Sam’s mouth, to his neck. His breathing is deliberately even, but shallow. Sam bets even money if he laid a finger on Dean’s pulse, he’d find his brother’s heart is racing.

All at once Dean drains his beer. He rolls off the hood and starts walking, headed toward the back of the car. Sam follows, finishing off his own bottle. Dean keys open the trunk and drops his empty back in the six-pack. Sam does the same, but grabs Dean’s wrist before he can go for another round.

Dean goes tense, rigid all over but Sam’s still got three good inches and a solid thirty pounds on the kid. He pulls Dean off balance, slams the trunk with his free hand and pins Dean against it. Thigh pressed up between Dean’s legs. Death grip on that wrist and he pinches his brother’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Dean’s eyes look like dinner plates but he’s not giving more than a token struggle. Sam descends. Moves in close enough to brush Dean’s lips when he says, “You’re mine, Dean.”

A long beat passes and Dean trembles under him. Licks his lips and wets both their mouths with his tongue. He jerks his chin free.

“No,” Dean says, head turned as far as it’ll go toward the trunk lid. “C’mon Sam this ain’t you you’re not fucked up like me you don’t want this.”

Squeezing Dean’s imprisoned wrist, Sam drags his brother’s hand across the hard line straining his jeans. “You think so?”

Dean’s eyes fall closed then, jaw falls slack. His brow crinkles in -- Sam can’t even say for sure. Arousal? Pain? Indecision? He grinds against his brother’s palm. “That’s what you do to me, Dean, drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He takes Dean’s chin again, one gentle finger this time and Dean follows it up.

When they kiss, when they finally kiss, well, pop song clichés don’t get it done.

Dean lets out a moan that sounds ripped out of him. His free hand crashes into the back of Sam’s head, fists into his hair. Sam pushes in, drives his tongue between his brother’s teeth, too wild, too hungry to take it easy. Dean pushes back, ’cause of course he does, and Sam’s gonna lose it right here if Dean doesn’t stop squeezing and stroking. He jerks Dean’s hand away.

Somehow never really breaking contact, Sam maneuvers them both to the side of the car. He swings a back door open and shoves at his brother’s hips ’til he sits down. Sam hits his knees between Dean’s feet and both Dean’s hands are in his hair now, not so much pulling as holding on as Sam works his teeth, his tongue all over that wicked mouth.

God the sounds his brother makes: deep growls and soft whimpers and tight, needy moans. Sam kisses his way across Dean’s stubbled cheek, down his jaw, tastes the cleft of his chin. Hands cupped around his brother’s head he licks at the salt of Dean’s neck. Stale sweat and leather from Dean’s old jacket flood his nose.

**

Sam is… Sam… is…

Oh, fuck Sam is _good_ at this. Dean can _not_ be this turned on just from making out. Sam’s lips are sealed over his and Sam’s tongue is lighting up nerves Dean didn’t even know he had. Riding the ridge of his teeth and diving deep, tickling at the roof of his mouth. Dean tries to give back but Sam’s crashing over him like a tidal wave and Dean’s brain shorts out when Sam draws Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth. Dean can’t get enough air in his lungs and can’t help thinking fuck it anyway ’cause if he drowns here, in his brother’s mouth, well, what a way to go.

He starts to shake, only partly because Sam’s kisses have left a wet trail across his face and down his neck. Chill night air only partly to blame for his epic case of goosebumps.

And then Sam’s shoving him, driving Dean across the seat ’til his back makes contact with the far door. Dean’s got a foot in the floorboard and one in the seat and Sam slides in beside him. Shuts his door, and rubs warm hands (always warm, Sammy’s hands, always so fuckin’ warm) all up and down Dean’s pajama-clad legs.

“Better?” Sam asks. “Can’t have you cold.”

Dean’s got nothing. Does the one thing he can think of and grabs Sam’s lapels, tries to tow him in for more kisses and Sam rolls up to his knees, closes the gap.

He grins against Dean’s mouth. “Greedy.”

Goddamn right.

Sam kisses him breathless again. Works Dean’s jacket off his shoulders and folds it, arranges it behind Dean’s back for a cushion and fuck him runnin’ Sammy’s thought of everything. Big hands run all over Dean’s arms, shove up under his shirt sleeves, press his shoulders hard against the door.

He’s got a massive tent in his pants, cool spot where he’s soaked them through and ohhoho shit that’s Sam’s next stop on his tour of Dean’s body. Sam nuzzles, fucking nuzzles the side of Dean’s dick, breath streaming hot and prickly over the length.

Dean groans through gritted teeth, juts up his hips. Sam grabs them and forces him down. Nips at Dean through the fabric. “Fuck, Sam.”

“Oh, we’ll get there,” Sam hums against him, smug as hell.

Dean doesn’t care what anybody says. The next sound he makes is _not_ a fucking sob.

Sam rocks back onto his heels. Drags Dean’s foot off the floorboard and pulls off his shoe, strips his sock. Does the same with his other foot and then Sam’s all over him again, stroking and kissing and tugging Dean’s shirt up around his armpits.

“Sit up,” Sam orders.

Bossy fucker. Kid-brother instincts kick in and he backtalks, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I ain’t gonna be the only one naked here, Sammy.”

Sam pets Dean’s face. Indulgent chuckle rocks his shoulders. Sam shrugs his jacket off, grabs the hems of both his shirts and strips himself bare to the waist. “Happy?”

Dean sucks in a breath. Sam’s -- bigger than he remembers. Chisel-cut and golden tan. He reaches forward, Sam leans back.

Wicked grin and “Oh no. Your turn now.”

And for once in his life, Dean obeys without question.

Sam leans forward, curls his fingers around Dean’s ribs and squeezes, eyes raking over his chest. Sam’s cheeks blow out. “Holy shit, little brother, not slacking off on the training I see.”

Dean feels his skin warm under the scrutiny, the praise. Sam slides his hands up toward Dean’s armpits, grazes his thumbs across Dean’s nipples. Dean’s head falls back to the window with a thunk and he hitches a breath.

Sam chuckles again. “Shoulda known you’d like your titties played with.” Brushes callused fingers back and forth over the crinkled flesh.

And Dean grits out, “Fuck you, Sam,” with the last scrap of his concentration.

**

Sam narrows his eyes, gives Dean’s nipples a solid pinch and gets right down in his brother’s face. Promises, “No, Dean. Tonight I’m gonna fuck _you_.”

Dean’s eyes roll up in his head as they flutter closed. His nostrils flare and a dirty-sweet blush springs up hot on his cheeks as a rumbling moan tumbles out.

Sam’s hands slide up, press in under Dean’s jaw. “Look at me.”

Dean grits his teeth. His eyes waver but open. Lust and fear and disbelief war their way across his features. Intoxicating.

“I said you were mine and I mean it. Mean to take you every way I want.”

Dean’s trembling, whimpering, jerking his hips. Rubbing off against Sam’s thigh.

“But you gotta say it. Whose are you, Dean?”

His brother groans, ragged and soft.

Sam moves his thumb to stroke Dean’s bottom lip. “Whose?”

Dean’s eyes fall closed and tears leak out when he squeezes them tight. “Yours, Sam, Jesus fuckin’ Christ, always yours only yours fuckin’ -- ”

Sam shuts him up with a brutal kiss. Teeth colliding, tongues flat-out fucking, taste of salt and iron and Sam and Dean and a telltale shock rips through Dean’s body. Sam breaks the kiss and watches his brother’s face lock tight in ecstasy.

“Perfect,” Sam whispers, kissing the tears from his brother’s lashes.

Before Dean can recover Sam strips off his ruined pajamas. Limp and pliant, Dean doesn’t struggle as Sam hauls him up to his lap, back-to-chest. Sam wraps an arm around Dean’s middle, brushes soft kisses to his brother’s nape. Dean shivers when Sam idly circles a nipple. Grinds his ass down when Sam babbles in his ear.

“Never shoulda waited so long God you’re fuckin’ beautiful gonna feel so good inside you -- “

“Uh, Sam?” Dean tenses up.

Sam turns Dean’s shoulders, twists around to look at his brother’s face. Dean won’t meet his eyes. His teeth run out and bite at his lip. “I uh -- ” He shakes his head, a stunted motion, almost imperceptible.

“Oh my God,” Sam breathes. “You’ve never… I mean… with a guy.”

“Well not _never_ ,” Dean hitches up one shoulder in a half shrug. “Just… y’know…” He thrusts his tongue inside his cheek, accompanying hand gesture completing the universal sign for blowjob.

Sam can’t suppress a laugh.

“That isn’t helping,” Dean grumbles.

Dean doesn’t understand. Sam squeezes him, hard. “I’m not making fun of you, Dean, I swear to God I’m just…” _overjoyed_. “No one else gets to have you like this. No one but me.” His face darkens. “Gonna rock that virgin ass.”

Dean’s eyes slip closed. His eyebrows pinch. “Awww, Jesus, Sammy.”

“Don’t worry.” Sam drags Dean back into a tight embrace. Talks soft in his ear. “Gonna make this good for you, Dean, make you come ’til you can’t see straight God _damn_ ” and that’s the end of recovery. Sam grabs his brother and lifts. Dean oofs in protest but Sam is just done. He pushes forward, bends Dean over the front seat at the waist. Dean’s writhing, kicking, cussing but Sam holds him firm with a hand at the small of his back. His other hand draws a slow line from Dean’s tailbone down to his balls, index finger hesitating, catching at Dean’s rim.

Dean gasps.

“Anybody ever eat you out before?” Sam asks, predatory. Hears his brother blow out a long, deliberate breath.

“Um -- ah!” Dean’s body jolts as Sam teases his hole with a finger. “No,” he pants. “Nobody… Never… done that.”

Sam growls as he lowers his head and drags his tongue in a tight wet circle around Dean’s entrance.

**

“Ohh, God, Sammy.” Dean’s an earthquake in his skin. “Ohh, fuck.”

He oughta be humiliated, ass-up and helpless, but nope, he is hopelessly horny. Sam rubs soothing circles into his back, spreads his cheeks. He feels kisses, soft suckling lips starting up by his tailbone and working down. Sam bypasses Dean’s hole, mouths at his balls and licks behind them. Dean bucks obscenely. How’s a guy gonna stay still under an assault like this?

Sam’s tongue, wide and flat, works Dean’s ass like it’s made of ice cream. Spit slicks him everywhere and fuck Sam’s a tease, tickling in tightening circles ’til he’s stroking over Dean’s hole. His feet flail, scrabble against the backseat bench and thank fuck Sam’s got ahold of him or else he’d be face-first in the floorboard by now.

Sam’s lips close around him, lightest suction as his tongue traces Dean’s rim, and Dean is… incoherent, vocabulary down to grunts and fucks and his brother’s name. Sam’s tongue curls, flutters over the muscle.

Sam’s fingers wrap around Dean’s hips and pull him back a shade. Dean gets his footing on the seat and Sam dives back in, thumbs massaging the sides of Dean’s cheeks. And Sam’s running his Goddamn mouth again in between hard licks and firm kisses and gentle sucks.

“God, Dean… So hot…” A long stroke from Dean’s nuts to his tailbone. “Made for this… Made for _me_ …”

Finally Sam points his tongue at Dean’s center and pushes. Dean makes a sound he doesn’t recognize and his chest seizes. He can’t get a breath.

Sam backs off, rests his nose against Dean’s tailbone and whispers, “Easy, now, just… deep breaths, ok? Gotta loosen up and lemme in. Gonna make you feel so good.”

Dean can do this, wants to do this and some dark part of him aches to make Sam proud, show his brother he can take him needs to please him. Sam’s tongue presses in again and when Dean breathes out it slips inside. Dean’s exhale swells into something wrecked and wanton and Sam’s moving, flexing his wicked tongue and oh shit Jesus _fuck_ Dean wants more.

“Please, Sammy…” is what Dean thinks he says and he musta got it right ’cause Sam eases up.

“Tell me what you want, Dean. Give you anything just gotta ask.”

Dean wants Sam to throw him down and blow his fuckin’ back out but he’s not an idiot. Gotta take your time, work up to these things.

“M-more…” He doesn’t even give a fuck anymore that he’s whimpering. “Please, Sammy, just -- ”

“Fingers?” Sam asks, pressing one against Dean’s hole.

Dean hisses. “…Yes.”

There’s movement behind him, sound of a zipper then crinkling plastic. Sam’s finger comes back, cool and slick. He rubs circles around Dean’s rim, pressure increasing but painfully slow. Sam’s teasing him again, the fucker, and Dean starts to rock back his hips, starts to beg. When Sam finally pushes in, Dean damn near collapses.

Sam saves him though. A strong hand curls around his hip, steadying. “God you should see yourself.” Sam fucks his finger in and out, taking his time. “How’s it feel?”

And Dean’s gratified to hear Sam’s voice is wavering, finally. “’S good, Sam. Keep goin’.”

“Good. Just. You keep talkin’, ok? Wanna do this right for you.”

Sam’s knuckles brush against Dean, and the finger in him flexes, curls. It’s weird, he’s not denying that but it’s Sam and, he trusts Sam and craves Sam and dammit Dean’s empty. Heartbeats, and the pressure comes back, heavier, thicker. The hand holding his hip squeezes tight and Dean feels his muscles give. He sucks in his breath.

“Still ok?” Sam doesn’t move, except to stroke at Dean’s side.

“I’m ok,” Dean breathes. “’S intense.”

A shudder transmits straight to Dean’s asshole when Sam chuckles. Dean swears.

“Sorry, sorry.” Sam leans forward and drops soft kisses to the meat of Dean’s ass. “Hold on.”

Both Sam’s hands disappear from Dean’s body. More plastic sounds and Sam comes back wetter, fingers pushing lube inside.

“No such thing as too much, eh, Sammy?” Dean feels the need to joke, ’cause this part’s kinda awkward.

“Shut up.” Sam shoots back, affectionate. Works his fingers in, twisting and thrusting, slow and easy.

“Thought I’s s’posed to keep ta-ahhaha!” His wisecrack melts into desperate whining when Sam skims across his prostate.

**

God Sam’s brother is beautiful. Perfect ass turning in circles and clutching, tugging around Sam’s fingers. Sam teases, plays with pressure and position and listens for Dean’s responses. He’s taking Sam’s fingers like a champ, but his legs are trembling and that seat back’s gotta be bruising his ribs and (okay, Sam’s selfish on this one) he really wants to see his little brother’s face.

Dean whines pitifully when Sam pulls out and he can’t resist spreading Dean open to look. Sam growls. “C’mon, Dean.” He wraps an arm around his brother’s middle, lowers him carefully back to the seat. Dean’s head rolls limp against Sam’s shoulder and Sam hauls him in for a long and searing kiss.

And, because he can’t get enough of Dean’s shivers and moans, he mouths his way down to a nipple. Dean’s hips fly up when Sam licks, flicks the hard point with his tongue. Sucks and nips it half to raw as he drives Dean down to the seat. Dean weaves his fingers in Sam’s long hair and pulls.

“Sam,” he pants, “Sammy…. Sam…”

He can take a hint. He kisses across his brother’s chest and works the other. Bares his teeth and bites a circle around the edge. Dean’s shoulders hitch, his abs clench, and Sam bars a forearm across Dean’s collarbones to hold him still. With his other hand, Sam drifts down and dips in Dean’s asshole. Dean’s dick jumps against Sam’s stomach and --

“Sam gonna come right now if you don’t…”

And there’s a part of Sam that’s down with that. Still, he really wants to feel Dean come on his cock, so he backs off. Hand flat against Dean’s breastbone he pauses to look at his brother, soak him in. Light sheen of sweat in spite of the cold and skin flushed provocative pink. Dean’s hair is wrecked, mouth open, eyes glassy and dilated. Sam swallows.

“We gon’ do this or what?” Dean asks and gives Sam the look Dean’s used to relieve girls of their panties since he was fourteen fuckin’ years old.

Sam shakes his head and grunts hungrily. “Yeah… Yeah you ready?”

Dean leans up and thumps Sam’s chest. “Fuckin’-a I’m ready. Just waiting on you.” He rolls over, gets up on his knees. Wiggles his ass and looks back over his shoulder. “C’mon you wannna written invitation?”

“Y’know, I could do without your lip,” Sam grumbles.

“But you love my lips!” To illustrate, he runs them out in half a kiss, half a pout.

There’s only so much Sam can take. He works his jeans and boxers to his knees and grabs Dean around the waist. Settles with his back to the door and sets Dean on his lap. He nuzzles, licks, bites at an earlobe. “Want you to ride me.”

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat. “Oh… O-ok sure.”

It’s a bit of a Cirque du Soleil act as Sam roots down and braces his feet against the opposite door. Dean has to turn around and dig a knee in between Sam and the seat back. They pinch and grope and grind each other and more than one bout of laughter somehow never threatens the mood. Somehow, nobody ends up with a knee in the balls either.

They’re breathless and grinning by the time they’re situated. Sam directs Dean to the supplies he stashed in the window well.

“Such a fuckin’ Boy Scout, Sammy,” Dean teases as he rips open the condom.

“Right ’cause the Boy Scouts would _so_ approve of this.” Sam gestures between them.

“Fair point,” Dean concedes. He wraps Sam in the condom, makes a filthy production out of it before he goes back for the packet of lube. Slicks Sam up from root to crown, raises his hips, and --

“You sure you’re ready?” Sam grabs Dean’s wrist.

“Sam.” Dean collapses to Sam’s chest, elbows jabbing his ribs and lube smearing over one shoulder. “You remember that skunk ape? Cracked ribs, concussion… Broke my leg so bad the bone poked through? I survived that, I’ll survive your dick.”

“Fair point,” Sam concedes, laughing softly. Curls up to sneak one more kiss and before he knows it his cockhead is pressed against his brother’s opening, Dean’s face all concentration as he starts a slow slide down.

**

 _Breathe, Winchester_ , Dean thinks. _Breathe and relax_. Pinpricks race up his spine as he stretches. Goosebumps bloom and he’s lightheaded. Has to brace himself against his brother’s chest.

Sam snakes a hand between them to steady Dean’s grip on his dick and the other hand pets Dean’s thigh, his side, his stomach. Sam trails a finger through the wet at the tip of Dean’s hard-on and slicks it down the length, fondles his balls.

“God, Dean waited so long wanted you so fuckin’ long look at you takin’ my cock like this-ah!”

Dean’s ass constricts as Sam’s head clears the passage of muscles. Dean has to pause. _Deep breaths_. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly and not like he thought it would it’s just -- intense is the only word. Dean’s head slumps forward and his teeth bite ridges in his lips and his legs tremble and Sam… Sam just watches, pets, soothes. His eyelids flutter heavy over wide and hungry pupils and he inhales, sharp and ragged. Dean’s never seen anything so hot in his life.

He’s still sinking, gravity and lust-weak knees see to that. On a long exhale Dean rocks his hips, slips past the widest part of Sam’s shaft and who fuckin’ knows which one of them made that wailing sound. Dean sees stars. And when his mind is processing again he can feel his brother’s balls snug up against his ass.

Sam’s hips jerk, bounce Dean on his dick and okay so that sound came from Dean. He moves his ass in a circle, feels his brother buried deep, grits his teeth and groans as Sam hisses. God Dean’s so stretched, so stuffed Sammy’s gotta think his cock’s in a vice grip and for Dean’s part, his dick’s so hard it’s bobbing with his heartbeat. He’s gotta move.

It burns a little, rising up and Dean grunts through gritted teeth. “Wait,” Sam says and squirts out the last of the lube on his fingers, rubs it around where they’re joined. “No such thing as too much, right?” and thrusts against Dean, wicked grin on his face when Dean’s jaw drops wide.

He’s stretched enough. He’s slick enough. But Dean still wants to take it easy, take it slow or this thing’s gonna end before it’s started. Sam has other ideas, apparently, ’cause he grabs Dean, fucks up into him, pulls him down and their skin slaps together.

Dean groans. Sam growls. “Ride me, Dean. C’mon. Fuck yourself good on your big brother’s prick.”

And Dean can’t say no to an offer like that. It’s still a little slow to start. Dean rocks and works ’til he finds a good angle, sets up a rhythm, fucks furiously now. Sam’s slick fingers curl around Dean’s dick and all he can make are rough animal noises. Sam’s fat cock keeps a steady pressure on his prostate and Dean’s sweating, shaking.

“Close, Sammy,” he manages.

Sam nods, panting. “Me too.”

Sam jacks up the pressure and pace of his stroking, a squeeze, a twist, a thumb over Dean’s slit and it doesn’t take long. With a full-throated howl Dean is losing it, coming, harder than he can ever remember. Grinds his hips down and his whole body strains, colors burst behind his squeezed-shut eyelids.

Sam’s thrusting, but gently when Dean’s brain comes back online. He grins down at his brother. “C’mon, Sammy, fuck me. Give it to me not gonna break.”

Sam does. Dean holds on, rocks against his brother’s hips, squeezes his inside muscles and takes up Sam’s dirty talk. “That’s it… Sammy… pound it… so deep… fuck me… all yours…”

Which musta been the perfect thing to say ’cause Sam keens, comes, hips stuttering between Dean’s legs and his face a blissful mask.

**

Sam holds onto his brother for as long as Dean puts up with it. Arms wound around Dean he scratches and strokes everything he can reach. Dean’s hands are in his hair again. Dean’s chin pokes into his shoulder.

“Lemme up,” Dean mumbles against Sam’s neck. Sam squeezes him hard and Dean lets out a satisfying grunt. “C’mon, man. ’M gross.”

Dean’s not wrong. They’re a mess of sweat and lube and come and God knows this car wasn’t built for two grown men to fuck in. Let alone bask in their afterglow. They’re both gonna be sore as hell tomorrow.

Sam’s hesitant, though, because once this moment passes they’re gonna have to think about the enormity of what they’ve done. And yeah, this is what Sam came here for, but fuck him if he’d thought it through. It’s not like him to give in to instinct like this. But where Dean’s concerned he’s always had a streak of jump first, find the parachute later.

With some effort Sam sits them up, fishes around for Dean’s pants which he uses to clean them.

“That, is fuckin’ disgusting.” Dean wrinkles his nose. “What the fuck am I supposed to wear outta here?”

“Chill out.” Sam runs a hand over the crown of Dean’s head, makes an even bigger mess of his hair. “I got some sweats in the trunk you can borrow.”

And Sam sees it, all over his brother’s face, as sure as if Dean had said it out loud. _What is he gonna say to Cassie?_

“You’re guilting,” Sam says as he wrestles his pants up.

“You think so?” And if Dean looks at Sam like this is all his fault, well, Sam expected that. Again, it’s not like Dean’s wrong.

Sam leans over, tries to kiss Dean but his brother shies away. Sam exhales through his nose and rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, this is -- ”

“Completely fucked up?” He shrugs Sam off, finds his shirt and starts pulling it on.

It’s a little fucked up, yeah. “I was gonna say inevitable.”

Dean blinks. And then, “I’m not having this conversation without pants.”

Sam suppresses a grin. Barely. He snags the keys from Dean's pocket and puts his jacket on over his naked chest. Cold blast of air when he opens the door makes the both of them shiver.

Sam doesn’t rush, tracking down a pair of sweats that aren’t gonna swallow Dean alive. Dean needs some time, either to work all this out in his head or work up his denial. It doesn’t matter. They’re not gonna settle anything tonight. Sam slings the pants over one forearm and picks up a couple of beers. Takes a deep breath before he heads back to the shotgun seat.

He passes Dean his sweats. Waits.

Dean finishes dressing and climbs out, gets back in behind the wheel. Sam gives him the beers and Dean opens them, hands one over. They clink their bottles, a sacred tradition, and tip their heads back in unison. Sam still doesn’t speak.

A long moment passes and, “You really drive all the way up here just to punch my v-card?”

Sam shrugs. “Looks like.”

“That’s -- that’s kind of awesome.”

Well this is going better than Sam pictured. “What, you’re not gonna make fun of me?”

“For what? Your grit, perseverance?” Dean runs his hands down his sides like a Golden Age Hollywood starlet. Puckers his lips. “Your impeccable taste?”

Sam rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, thinks his face is gonna break with it.

They're quiet a while.

“Dunno what I’m gonna do about Cassie.” Dean’s voice is low. Sam has to strain to hear. “I love her, Sam. She’s incredible but she’s -- ” He takes a deep breath and long pull off his longneck. “All I’ve ever done is lie to her.”

Sam risks laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean tilts his head, rubs his cheek against the knuckles. Sam’s so surprised he nearly jerks it back.

“You know,” Sam ventures, “you don’t have to decide right now. I can hang around a couple days, or get lost if that’ll make it easier.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “I meant what I said, Dean. Whatever you want.”

“Right now all I want is a shower.” Dean sniffs at his shirt, grimaces. “And then some coffee. And bacon and eggs.” He starts the car. “Oo and some hash browns. And biscuits and gravy and -- ”

“Dean?” Sam interrupts. “Just drive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/97375.html?thread=37740639#t37740639).
> 
> "We Belong" is a track from Pat Benatar's _Tropico_.


End file.
